


To marry the untold blisses / and anchor this lost soul

by cinciarella



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Cities, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, stoffel is somehow into history and psychogeography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 05:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinciarella/pseuds/cinciarella
Summary: Pierre's booty call doesn't go as planned and he finds himself in a medieval city, where he discovers something older than every city in the world: love, perhaps.





	To marry the untold blisses / and anchor this lost soul

**Author's Note:**

> Look, it's difficult to summarize this 'story' or whatever it is, but I promise it's not too bad :P  
> Title from 'Teignmouth' by Patrick Wolf (A really good song that really fits this story in my opinion)

He opened the window, but left the dark brown wooden shutters closed. Small stripes of light fell in the room, but he could not see the city yet. Only sounds drifted through the small openings in the wood: bicycles zooming by, _ciao Stefano_ , the staccato rhythm of heels on the pavement, children running and screaming. 

He showered, put some clothes on and walked down the stairs of the hotel. The walls were white, the floors clad in an ugly brown carpet that he would’ve expected in a British hotel from the seventies, not in a historical building in Italy. The hotel still looked a lot more modern on the inside than the outside would suggest.

He walked by the front desk and greeted the receptionist, who was peeling a blood orange, her manicured nails digging in the orange and pink-tinged flesh, juice running down her thumb. _Buongiorno. Buongiorno._ He stepped out of the front door, under the arches of the arcade and onto the street. The day was still young, but the sun was beating down on the city and Stoffel knew it would be another hot day.

He took a left and walked towards another arcade. A guy was carrying tomatoes out of the back of a truck, bringing them to the Osteria that lined the _Piazza Trento Trieste._ Two old men were drinking their morning coffee, a newspaper on their little table, whose headlines they seemed to be vividly discussing. Over the past few days Stoffel had noticed that no table in this city was ever stable. The cobblestones and old, botchy streets always prevented all the legs from touching the ground. Eating and drinking on them was a dangerous and tense affair. He liked it, it was not ideal, but it had charm. 

He halted at a little bar, chose a small table on the terrace and sat down. He had a nice view of the _Basilica Cattedrale di San Giorgio_ and he liked to look at its white marble, the three cusps, the intricate details on the statues above the entrance. He ordered a cappuccino and looked at the white stone building, the blue sky behind it, the tourists in front of it. If anybody had recognized him so far, they had hidden it well. He was alone and he liked it. The sunlight fell on his tanned arms and he closed his eyes. All around him, excited chatter in Italian, sometimes an English conversation. _Is this that church?_ , Children begging for a _gelato_ , the waitress taking orders. 

It was a lot louder than his Monaco apartment, a lot busier, but it gave Stoffel a tranquility that he hadn’t experienced in a while. After finishing his cappuccino, he decided to do what he had done the past few days as well: enter the church. If the outside was smooth, immaculate and exquisite in its simplicity, the inside was its opposite: colorful, baroque, and dizzyingly detailed. The everyday noise of the piazza was also mirrored in the silence of the church, a quietness that was heavy with spirituality and contemplation.

While he was looking at a bronze statue of a crucified Jesus Christ, his phone bleeped. An elderly lady gave him a nasty look, so he quickly walked out of the church. Back on the piazza he took out his phone and saw that Pierre had sent him a message.

Pierre: _Have to go to Faenza this week, can I drop by in Monaco?_

He started walking, without a clear destination, meanwhile texting Pierre back.

Stoffel: _I’m not in Monaco._

Pierre: _Oh, where are you then?_

He passed _Castello Estense_ , with its red bricks and medieval moat, its four towers and its three drawbridges. He thought about telling Pierre that he was kidnapped by a rival noble family, that he was locked up in one of the towers, forced to spend his days staring out of the window, waiting for Pierre’s horse to race into the city to rescue him. He rolled his eyes at his own silliness and continued walking. 

He took a right and wondered what to answer Pierre. Did he want his anonymous get-away to end? Did he already want to go back to the glitz and glamour of Formula One life? Maybe he could ease back in slowly. Maybe Pierre could gently pull him in again. Knowing that was nothing more than an excuse to see Pierre again, he replied to his text.

Stoffel: _Ferrara. Hotel Nazionale. I’ll explain later._

Pierre: _Can I come?_

Stoffel: _No, I give you my hotel so you can leak it to the press ;)_

Pierre: _Silly waffle, see you soon ;)_

Smiling, Stoffel put his phone back in his pocket and continued walking. He passed a tabaccheria, overtook an old lady returning from the market, loaded with groceries and greeted the construction workers who were having a smoke break. He walked on between the orange and red buildings, over the cobblestones and smooth pavements, between old people and young children. He enjoyed the simple everydayness that he saw and heard, a seemingly uncomplicated existence, focused on what really matters: family, love, good weather, good wine and good food. Perhaps it was good that he invited Pierre into this little bubble he was currently inhabiting, perhaps it would be nice to share this experience, but he wasn’t sure if he would be understood. 

***

Pierre: _I’ll be there soon_

Stoffel: _yay x_

Pierre: _Can’t wait to eat my waffle_

Stoffel: _oh my god stay away please_

***

Like he was the captured nobleman of his daydreams, Stoffel was staring out of the window of his hotel room onto the _Corso Porta Reno_ , waiting for his knight in shining armor to rescue him. He didn’t want to be rescued though, he wanted to drag his hero into his voluntary imprisonment and keep him there. Looking at the movements in the street, he was enjoying the evening air. The heat was still there, but slowly retreating, likewise, the sun was setting, her departure leaving the sky in hues of pink and purple. The street smelled like freshly baked pizza and cigarette smoke.

Suddenly a taxi pulled up and stopped in front of his hotel. He saw Pierre get out of the car and being handed his bag by the taxi driver. He liked looking at Pierre when he was unaware of it. He liked seeing him thank the taxi driver with a genuine smile, he liked knowing that Pierre was just such an upbeat and friendly guy, no matter who he was interacting with. He liked Pierre, a lot. 

Two knocks on his door dragged him out of his thinking. He got up and opened the door for Pierre, who immediately dropped his bag and pinned Stoffel against the door. Kissing him along his neck, he sighed: “I missed you.” Stoffel let his head rest against the door and smiled softly. 

“I missed you too,” he replied, gasping as Pierre sucked a hickey in his neck, his hands roaming underneath Stoffel’s t-shirt.

“Then tell me why you are hiding in some small Italian town, like you’re James Bond escaping from your enemies,” Pierre said, drawing back and looking into Stoffel’s eyes with curiosity, but mostly lust. 

“You talk too much,” Stoffel replied.

“Then make me shut up,” Pierre answered playfully, his eyes glistening in the dark room. Stoffel grabbed the hem of Pierre’s shirt and dragged him to the bed. 

“What a cliché,” Stoffel said in fake exasperation. He pushed Pierre down on the bed and climbed on top of him, kissing Pierre passionately before gently biting his neck. 

“It seems to work though,” Pierre replied, giggling while Stoffel took his shirt off. 

“Shut. Up.” Stoffel gritted through his teeth, grabbing Pierre’s hands and pinning them above his head.

***

Stoffel opened the window to let some fresh air in. Along with the still warm and humid evening air, the sounds of people on the piazza having drinks and dinner entered the room. 

“Come back here,” Pierre whined and Stoffel happily complied. He climbed back in the bed and laid down on Pierre’s inviting chest. 

“So, why are you here?” Pierre asked, while drawing circles on Stoffel’s arm. When Stoffel was about to attempt an answer that wouldn’t sound absolutely crazy, Pierre’s stomach suddenly rumbled. They both laughed. 

“Hungry?” Stoffel asked, looking up at Pierre.

“Maybeeee?” Pierre replied, his wide innocent eyes looking into Stoffel’s.

“Let’s go outside and get some food, I found an amazing Osteria in one of the little alleyways,” Stoffel suggested. 

***

“So, why are you in Ferrara?” Pierre asked before shoving a generous spoonful of gnocchi in his mouth. Stoffel sighed, realizing that Pierre was not going to let it go. They were sitting on a terrace near the university, the late evening temperature being still very pleasant. 

“Because I wanted to get away from Monaco,” Stoffel said, “And Ferrara sounds like Ferrari so I figured that it couldn’t be a bad place.” That made Pierre giggle and look at Stoffel fondly.

“But what happened in Monaco?” Pierre asked, with genuine concern. 

“Nothing really,” Stoffel said, taking a bite of his pizza, “I just wanted to get away from it. From the ugly modern apartment buildings, you know, they look so bad compared to the beautiful landscape. And like, away from all those famous people and the parties and all the superficial showing off. I just,” Stoffel paused and Pierre put his hand on top of Stoffel’s. 

“And all the expectations that come with it, and all the questions, if I’m still happy at McLaren, if I want more, if I’m good enough… It just was so oppressive, I had to go away,” Stoffel continued, he felt Pierre looking at him but he didn’t want to see his reaction. He was afraid that Pierre would think he was weird, his life seemed to be the one everybody would want and he himself sometimes felt ungrateful if he wanted to escape it occasionally. 

“You wanted something more real?” Pierre asked, drawing circles on Stoffel’s hand with his thumb.

“yeah, I guess so,” Stoffel replied, a small smile appearing on his face now it seemed that Pierre understood. 

“And you found that here?” 

“yeah, it’s been good to be in a really old city,” Stoffel laughed, “it makes everything about Formula One seem so silly and the people here are friendly and they care a lot about what matters.” Pierre smiled at him and his heart warmed.

“And what matters to you?” Pierre asked.

“Jesus, Pierre, is this the Spanish inquisition or what?” he joked at the onslaught of questions he’d been receiving.

“Sorry,” Pierre said, but he knew Stoffel hadn’t been serious, “Let’s get a gelato on the way back?”

“I don’t think a gelato is part of our diet, Pierre,” Stoffel replied, knowing that it would bring out Pierre’s puppy eyes, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“Pleaseeee,” he begged, and how could Stoffel ever deny him? 

***

“You know,” Stoffel said, licking at his ice cream cone, “when you asked what matters to me, I’ll tell you one thing.” Pierre was busy with not letting his ice cream melt, he had chosen two flavours (moderation was not his forte), stracciatella and tiramisù, but Stoffel’s question had aroused his curiosity. 

“Yes?”, he replied, licking the molten ice cream off his fingers.

“You,” Stoffel said.

“Me?” Pierre asked, his eyebrow raised. 

“Yes, you,” Stoffel repeated, amused at having caught Pierre off-guard. 

“Awww,” Pierre quickly pulled himself together and said, “you like me.”

“Maybe,” Stoffel replied, but the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

“It’s a shame you tell me this when I’m holding an ice cream, because now I can’t push you against a wall and kiss you,” Pierre said, in a completely calm and neutral way, continuing to eat his ice cream. Stoffel shook his head, smiling, Pierre was truly something special.

“You have to go back to Faenza tomorrow?” Stoffel asked.

“Yeah, but I can come back in the evening. Till when are you in hiding, mister Bond?” Pierre asked and Stoffel giggled at his comparison. 

“I have the hotel booked for three more days,” Stoffel replied. 

“Then I’ll come back from the factory and you’ll be waiting for me like a good housewife,” Pierre replied smiling. It earned him a shove from Stoffel.

“Hey, be careful, my gelato!” he exclaimed and they both laughed, their laughter echoing in the small streets of Ferrara. 

***

For the next two days, Pierre left early in the morning to go to the factory in Faenza. Stoffel stayed in bed a bit longer, listening to the city’s sounds, before getting up to have breakfast on the piazza. He spent the mornings walking through the city, discovering new alleyways, noticing architectural details, mingling with tourists and locals alike, blissfully immersing himself in Ferrara’s daily choreography. 

In the afternoons he had lunch in a small trattoria and then watched a football game or cycling race with some locals in a bar. By the time Pierre arrived he was already in his hotel room, stripped naked, stretched out on the bed, a smug look on his face when Pierre opened the door and froze in awe. After the sex, which started to feel more like love-making - even though Stoffel hated that word - he took Pierre out into the city to show him what he’d discovered before they had dinner somewhere. He showed him the medieval merchant’s street Via delle Volte, the narrow street illuminated by the setting sun and the lanterns and told him that family of Dante Alighieri had lived here, but Pierre had never heard of Dante. 

He also took Pierre to the Castello Estense and together they took a guided tour. The stories of medieval knights and conquests were more to Pierre’s liking and Stoffel deliberated telling Pierre about his daydream, but ultimately decided not to. When the guided tour was done, they climbed up to the tower and looked at the view of Ferrara and the surrounding countryside. Stoffel checked if they were alone before sneaking in a quick kiss. “My knight,” Stoffel said playfully solemn, “can you take me to my dwellings?”

“Of course, milady,” Pierre replied, laughing and grabbing Stoffel by the hand. 

***

“So, are you ready to leave?” Pierre asked while zipping up his bag.

“Yeah, I’m done packing,” Stoffel replied.

“That’s not what I meant,” Pierre said, smiling softly.

“Yeah, I guess,” Stoffel replied, “I’m going to miss this city, but perhaps it’s time I go back to real life.”

“It was nice, no?” Pierre asked, his tone strangely serious for such a simple question, as if he was asking something else. Stoffel picked up on the undertone and closed the distance between them. Wrapping his arms around Pierre’s waist, he said:

“It was very nice, especially when you joined me.” He kissed Pierre’s cheek, his jaw, the sensitive spot underneath his earlobe, his throat, his neck, his collarbone. When he drew back, Pierre was smiling at him fondly.

“You want to stay at my place in Monaco tonight?” Stoffel asked.

Pierre didn’t reply, not with words at least, but he grabbed Stoffel’s collar, pushed him against the wall and kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3  
> please kudo or comment if you liked it!  
> Also, I wrote this in 24 hours and couldn't be bothered to reread properly, so sorry for any mistakes.  
> And, as usual, this story is a figment of my imagination (except the city and all the mentioned places, those all exist)  
> ANYWAY  
> THANK YOU


End file.
